OOFYIS.IOHLTEr). 



r^§^^%^^^SiS^. 



TANGLED LIVES 



TWO HEARTS SORROW, 

. ^:'; Ivniot-ional, ^Domeslic (Drama 
IN SIX ACTS. 



DRAMATISED BY 



D. A. REYNOLDS, 

From BARRI TT SYLVESTERS novel of same name 



1886. 

I). A. Reynolds .'& Co. 

Lyons, Micb. 



V 



ACT I Smother's sehemiug— Titled poverty — A clever alli- 
ance — A son's perversness — A mother's prayer and a father's curse 
—''you know not what you ask^' — marry a fortune to save a name 
— "I could not if I would"— **As God is my witness, she is my wife." 
Scene 2 — —Percy in a pickle — A severe attack— "Takes me for an 
infant" — F^nt heart ne'er won fair lady — Poetical— A plucky ffoose 
— Not in receiving costume— Cupid's work— Going to the devil — 
Only a flirtation — A woeful benedict — Fair mermaid — A firm resolve 
— A vvife's joy and sorrow — *-You shall not leave me" — "Have mer- 
cy on your child" —An impious oath— Redress — "A mother's joy, a 
wife's position" — "Gone, gone and I am ruined!" 

ACT II Streets ot London — Love<l and lost — A man of 

money — A little recreation — A new idea— Poverty — The foster sis- 
ter—The hidden grief — Self exiled — Dying of hunger — Reraorsless 
greed — A friend in need — "I can't stand that" — Twixt life and 
death — Found at last — Shut out the past — Indeed a nobleman - 
Percy's reward — *'Can t stand that." 

AFTER 20 YEARS. 

FAK,T SEOOlSriD. 

ACT III An ungrateful son— Steeped in crime--A grief- 
stricken father — Indulgent mother — A name in peritf-The confes- 
sion — "You shall stay to receive them"— "My only happiness"— 
The meieting— **Two broken hearts in exchange for gold" — Mother 
and daughter — The villian's reception — The heart's secret— Rob- 
ber}^ — **Wretch, you have killed m}^ mother!" 

ACT IV k. man of letters— Head of the family — A cruel er 

rand — The gentle powers subdue — "Go milk that cow" Scene 2. 
The vulture in waiting for his victim — "Where is Edward?" You 
are mine" — Struggle for life— In the spiders web — The insult— The 
ret^cue— "Monster, would you wrong your sister?" — The unlawful 
heir— "Go to your ruin," 

ACT V Cressingtou Hall — A heart's inquiry — Edward's re- 
turn — Emblems of honor — "My God he knows my secret"— A tame 
proposal — A mother's pleading — The fatal letter — The work of a 
demon — "He has robbed me of my inheritance;"- The fatal shot — 
A coward's sequel. 

ACT VI A mind dethroned— The welcome visitor — Old 

memories — ''The sfreat sorrow that has held her mind captive may 
depart through this flood of tears" — The sin confessed — ^"On my 
knees I implore forgiveness" — Reconciliation — The mother's heart 
—Not a brother but a lover— A nobleman in disguise — One more 
blessing-"A day of sunshine through the vail of TANGLED LIVES. " 



OOI^"2"II/IC3-I3:TEID. 



-<«^C),-^ 



TANGLED LIVES 



TWO HEART'S SORROW. 



An Emotional, domestic (Drama 



IN SIX ACTS 




DRAMATISED BY 

D. A. REYNOLDS^ 

From BARRITT SYLVESTER^S novel of same name. 



1886. 

D. A. Reynolds & Co. 

Lyons, Mich. 



CP.^. 



CAST OF CHARACTIiiRJ?! 



Eugene, Son of Lord Beaumont, Part 2d. Lord Beaumont. 
LoKD Cressington, Lord of Cressington Hall. 
Lord Beaumont, Lord of Beaumont Castle. 
Percy Powell, Country Gentleman — a little off. 
Ernest, Twin Brother to Edith. 
Edward, Supposed Brother of Edith and Ernest. 
Reginald, S^ of Eugene and Lad}' Augusta. 
Gerald, Son of Geraldine and Lord Cressington. 
Money Bags, An old Miser. 
Wilson, A Burglar. 

Geraldine, The blind vicar' s daughter. Part 2d, Lady Cressington. 
Lady Beaumont, Wife of Lord Beaumont Sr. 
Lady Dorcas, Sister of Lady Beaumont. 
Lady Augusta, Unlawful wife of Eugene. 
Edith, Daughter of Geraldine and Eugene. 
Polly, Foster-sister of Geraldine. 
Officers, Servants etc. 

COSTUMES. 

Eugene, — Acts 1, 2, Young nobleman's suit. Acts 3, 4, 6, En- 
glish Lord. 

Lord Cressington, — Act 1, Hunting habit, game bag, dogs and 
gun. Act, 2d, young nobleman's suit. Acts 8, 5 English Lord. 

Lord Beaumont, Sr. — English nobility. 

Percy Powell,— A(?ts 1, 2, Jocky hat. cut-a-way (?oat, yellow 
vest and boquet, knee breeches, long stockings and slippers. Act 
4, high hat, long black coat, knee breeches, stockings and slippers. 

Edward, — Act 3, dress of the day. Acts o, 6, English Officer. 

Ernest, Reginald and Gerald,— suits of tlie period. 

Money Bags, — A miserly make-up. 

Geraldine, — Act 1, Wlute dress, low neck, short sleeves, lace 
hat, blue sash, with boquet. Act 2, Plain walking dress of light 
color. Acts 3, 5, Rich English dress. Act 6, Mo"iirning. 

Lady Beaumont, Lady Dorcas and Lady Augusta, — Rich En- 
glish costumes. 

Edith, — Acts 3, 4, 5, Light costume. Acrt 6, Half mourning. 

Polly, — Act 1, Light, girlish suit Ayith hat. Act 2, Plain work- 
ino^ dress. Act 4, Matron, s dress. 



SCEi\ES. 

ACT 1, Scene 1, Parlor— Full stage. Scene 2, Woodhmd, front J 
ACT II, Scene 1. Stret; front J. Scene 2. Room in Tenament; Full. 
ACT III. Scene 1. Room, in Beaumont Castle; Full Stage. 
ACT IV, Scene 1, Lawn— Front J. Scene 2, Blank, dreary room. 
ACT Y, Scene 1, Illuminated garden. Front 2- 
ACT VI, Scene 1, Parlor— Full stage. 



TANGLED LIVES, 

OR 

TWO HEARTS^ SORROW. 

ACT I. 

SCENE I. — Discovers Lady Beaumont seated on sofa with letter. 

Lady B. So far my scheme works well. Lady Augusta has ac- 
cepted my invitation and will be here immediately. Now, if I can 
bring these young people to love each other, the name of Beau- 
mont may yet be liiaintained among the nobility of England. Love, 
did I say! I should have said policy. Love is no consideration 
where fortune and position are at stake. But here comes my lord 
Beaumont. {Enters Lord Beaumont B. 3 feebly.) Good even, my 
lord! (Bises.) Your brow seems laden with care; why this depres- 
sion? May I not minister to your relief? 

Lord B, Ah! My lady is not aware of the cloud that settles over 
the fortunes of the house of Beaumont and I have lacked the cour- 
age to disclose to you the true state of affairs. 

Kady B. Yet I am conversant withal. I have known this style 



4 TANGLED LIVES. 

of living was beyond our ability to maintain; and must sooner or 
later prove our ruin; but had hoped tliroug'h the marriage of Eu- 
gene, all might be righted. He is very clever my lord. 

Lord B. And very perverse, my lady; yet, if Eugene knew that 
all depended upon his marriage, I do not think him the Beaumont 
to allow poverty and disgrace to come upon the honored name. I 
have thought to speak to him upon the supject. 

Lady B, Do, my lord, and while you show him the magnitude 
of the disease, I will administer the medicine. 

Lord B, You are an enigma my dear. I do not guess your 
meaning. 

Lady B. It is best my lord, that we understand each other fully. 
I have in my hand a letter from Lady Augusta LaScelles accept- 
ing my invitation to spend a month at the castle, and I am fully 
determined this union shall be consumated. 

Lord B. Lady Augusta is indeed, a charming woman and of a 
noble and wealthy family. A union between our son and lady Au- 
gusta would be most desirable. It would, indeed, be the elixer to 
give life to the house of Beaumont, 

Lady B. I have but one fear, my lord; Eugene is not a way- 
ward son, indeed, he is very amiable; yet I fear I have discovered 
that which forbodes evil to our designs. 

Ijord B. Speak, my dear; you have no reference to that peas- 
ant girl our son met on his visit to Cressington Hall? 

Lady B, I do my lord. The daughter of the blind preacher is 
very beautiful and of amiable disposition; yet, of course, beneath 
our consideration as a daughter. 

Lord B. (Excitedly.) My son form an alliance with the blind 
vicar's daughter? Impossible! (Seats himself at table and rings 
bell.) I will bring him here at once and learn the truth of this 
wild fancy. 

(Enter Servant B. 2.) 

Servant. Your pleasure, my lord. 

Lord B. Send Eugene to me at once. 

Servant. Yes, my lord. [Ex. B. 2. 

Lady B. I will retire, my lord, that you may have better audi- 
ence with our son. L trust your lordship Avill excuse me? 



i:^AlS^GL]ED LIVES. 5 

Lord B. Cei^tainly, my dear* [Ex. Lady B. L. 1. 

Enttf EuaiSNE i?. i. 

Eugene^ Did you request my presence, sir? I await yoUr 
pleasurs. 

Lotd B\ {Rising.) Eug'ene, I Wish again to x?all your attention 
to a subj€€t which is of vital importanT^e to you and your future 
interests; that is, a suitable alliance to sustain the falling fortune 
of the house of Beaumont. You are favored with several oppor- 
tunities, but seem strangelv indifferent to the charms of several 
ladies of rank and foi'tune, ^hose niany^ perfections you seem to 
Ignores 

Eugene. Perfections, My lord? Itnperfections you should have 
said. 

ijotd K feilgene, this evasion does not please me and will avail 
you nothings I believe the report which I have hoard from your 
mother to be true, sir — that, incredible as it may appear, you are 
infatuated with the charms of a r^ustio country girl. 

Eugene^ You ate mistaken, sir. The — 

Eotd R. Spare your oulogy, sir, and listen to what I liave to 
say. You are aware my expenses ai^e quite equal to my Income, 
Indeed, With J-our iliether's fortune, the latter was barely enough. 
Of late I have been obliged to effect heavy liens upon lier estates 
and you knoW our own were mortgaged to a considerable extent 
When I became of age. When these revert to you, Eugene, y^ou 
will be almost a beggar. Bo you understand? A beggarl 

Euffene. {Ab^e7itly.) I — I understand. 

Lord B. There is but one way to maintain jour position. That 
"is by marriage. 

Eugene. But, sit- — =--— 

Lord K I listen to no *'Buts,'^ sir; the thing is positive. You 
must marry at once. Your quarterly allowance oeases from this 

Eugene. My deuT iather, consider 

Lord B, {^Excitedly.) I have eonsidered, sir, and this is my de- 
cision. Let me know who is flre favored object of your choice and 
I will receive you us iciy -son. Until then we are strangers. [Ex, R. 3. 

Eugene. {T'acmg L. E. excitedly,) Until then we are strangers! 



6 TANGLED LIVES. 

This is my father's blessing! Marry a fortune or beg! This i*^ 
nobility! Lord Beaumont, the beggar! {Shudder's.) What omi- 
nous words! A beggar! Surrender the luxuries I have known, en- 
dure the scorn of the world, scoffed at by all! Oh this is terrible! 
{Transfixed with horror.) Marry a fortune to save a name! I 
could not if I would! How little they know what they ask! Have 
I not one of the purest, sweetest wives? and yet, I dare not own 
her. Oh, Geraldine, for you I am driven from home, a beggar, an 
outcast from society! My God, it cannot be! {Sinks on sofa and 
covers face with hands.) 

Enters Lady Beaumont L. 1. 

Lady B, {Goes to Eugene, places hand on shoulder. Eugene starts 
up.) What has happened, Eugene? 

Eugene. Nothing, madam. 

Lady B, Nothing, my son^ and you were lying here flushed and 
excited with traces of great sorrow? 

Eugene. I weep then at other's cruelty^ 

Jjady B, Cruelty? 

Eugene. What else can it be called when I am forced to sacn^ 
fice my love, my manhood, my honor for GOLDF 

Lady B, For goodness' sake Eugene, yoii frighten met What 
do you mean? 

Eugene, To be brief, then, mother, my father has ordered me' 
into a wealthy alliance, no matter if my heart shall already be 
given to another. 

Lady B. Ah, Eugene, I have Iteard the story of your infatua- 
tion and am much grieved at your indiscretion. The girl is na 
doubt loving and beautiful, but you are Lord Beaumont's heir. 

Eugene. And a beggarl Complete my title of el-egibility, madam^ 

Lady B, It is too true, my son ^ but I v/ill not add to yenir dis- 
tress. I am powerless to assist you, even if 1 would. Your own 
good judgement must decide for you; {Turning to go.) but remem- 
ember, Eugene, that upon your decision rest& the name and for- 
tune of the house of Beaumont, 

Eugene. Mother, do you join witli my father in exacting this 
great sacrifice? Do you inveigh me to cancel all leve, all prompt- 
info's to be true to my heart and bow down to the shrine of Mam- 



TAKGLED LIVES. 1 

mph? Can you, who havie taught me from my cradle to be true 
and noble, advise tne to forsake her who is purer than sunlight, 
Who is dealer to me than life, and blot out all that is worth living 
for, simply to foster this empty bauble of nobility? 

Lady i>\ My son, you nvagnify your grievances. Listen to me. 
Your father must soon sever the ties that bind him to earth, while 
my own heaith if failing rapidly. You will soon be Lord Beau- 
mont, the last surviving member of a noble fa,mily. You are now 
blessed with favorable surroundings, and, with a proper marriagh, 
may always be one of England's most honored noblemen. 
Follow your infatuation, and you are an outcast, your father's 
name the by -Word of nobility, w^hile you. will be the butt of ridicule 
among your wealthy associates, 

Eugene^ Lady Beaumont, I will do all in my power to avert 
"this awful sequel. Even the price of honor shall not deter me. 

Lady B {TaMing his hands.) Now, my dear boy, you talk like 
a Beaumont. I knew your reason would return, and have pre- 
pared a pleasant surprise for you in the visit to the castle of Lady 
Augusta, who comes with the avow^ed purpose of being wooed and 
Won. She is — 

Eugene^ {Pu^hin^ kemivay.) Stop, w^oman; you ^now not 
what you say4 Lady Augusta can never be my wife! 

Lady Bo Will you, then, the son and heir of Lord Beaumont, re- 
fuse rank and fortune, beauty and culture, scoff at a mother's 
prayer, defj^ a father's curse, to bow at the shrine of some lov*', 
country peasant, whose deceit and cunning has 

Eugene, '{Stepping forward with tiprmsed hmnd.) Stop, mothei! 
Dare not lay one charge at her feet! She is true and noble, pure 
and unselfish, and 9.s God is my witness, SHE IS MY WIFE! 

Lady J5. {Throws up h^nds and sinks on sofa.) My God, wearo 
ruined! Lost! Lost! 

SCE^TE t. Draws of to woodland scene at Cressi7igton Hall. —En- 
ters Percy with hand on stornacK 

Percy. 'Oh, dear, Fm all broke up! Heel as if I'd been eating 
l)iled di^n^i' and it didn't set well. The fact is, that girl has com- 
pletely got. away with m«. Why, she's stolen my heart, turned my 
liead and disordered my whole constitution. I sometimes think I 



8 TANGLED LIVES, 

will kick on the division and make her take the whole hog ot* HOH^. 
But then she might say, i prefer lowL I — I — guess I'm in love| 
Zounds! I'd rather have a turn of the collet Wonder if the girls 
feel this way when they get gone on a fellow! Why I feel as if t 
was clear gone! Think Pve got a severe attack and no cure for it^ 
I've taken srnartweed, pigweed and weeds that didn^t smart; pep^ 
permint, sperement, catnip and nips of other discription but no re- 
lief. Mother f^ays that her child is going crazy! (Fulls down vest.y 
Wonder if she takes me for an infant. ! But F ve got to let off oi^ 
bust. It's coming! {Looks around stage and feels for pencil J If I 
just had paper^ I'd Just write her my sentiments gsnd Just let hef 
know just how I feel. {Finds pencil and paper.) If it just suited 
her and she feels just as I do we'd jnst go to Squke Morgsn^s and 
just get him to s^ay just a lew words and we'd |ust think we'd done 
it. Now that's what I'd c^ll being squared by a }!3St-iee. {Looks 
around for someiJiing to tvrite on, — Takes off shoe and uses it for 
writing desk,) '*Faint heart ne'er won fair lady!'' *'Fortune' 
(never) favors^ the bravet" I suppose I ought to write this m 
poetry, she would like it so ismch better, I nether did sueh a tbin^ 
in mj life! But here goes for it;^ a mass will do ai^thing wheu m 
love, {Writes.) 

Nearest Folly, for yoii I .^igh^ 
Without you, sure^ I think I'd die; 
My heart's on iJre when you are nigh, 
Because with love I'm erazy. 

Good so far. 

With angels lair you wotrld compare; 
You darling little elf. 
You'r love enough for all the world;; 
I want you all myself. 
There! I eail that good poetry for the maiden effort htit not 
just to the point, O pshaw! I can never pop Ihe queslioB on- 
paper. It's harder to get through a fellmv t^has oleomargarine^ 
{Looks L.) Hark! By Normandy she's eomiiTg! (Drops paper 
and shoe and goes B,} I can't sta^rd th^t! ^Ex,^ B, looking backer 

Mnter Folly L. 
Polly. I wonder where sister Geraldiae has gone! How strange 
she acts of late! She seems perfectly blind to Lord Crgssis^glon's 



attetitions, while the slightest word ftom Lord Beaiimotit btiog^ 
the crimson to her cheek;. Well; loye is a riddle all us girls are 
engaged in guessins^. {Hits foot against shoe, picks up lette?* and 
reads it.) If here isn't sehtiiiient! The sWeet, siibstanclal, t)athetid 
and sublime. But no tiame. (Picks tip shoe.) Ah^ here is thd 
sionatarci and a No. 9 at that! I inififht hate known it Was Perct 
Powell! He is the biggest gander in — — 

Enter Percy R. {one shoe off.) 
Percy. And you are just the little goose thut can tHake hiin the 
happiest bird in the landi {Limping toward her with out-stretched 
arms.) Oh, Polly ,^ pretty i^olly, come tinder the wiag of the^ 
pluckiest bird that waddles^ 

Polly i {Tossing shoe at him.) You are tiot in redeiving costume 
Mr. Powell. 
' Percy i {Pulling on shoe) My own Polly ^ corbe to 

Polly i What a horrid hat Mr. Powell! {Percy jerks off^ hat and 
throws it dovjn.) And that coat; how unbecoming! {Coat follow^ 
hat.) And that yellow rest; how terrible! {Vest foUouJs hat and 

coat.) And such shoes {Shoes come off— Percy puts thumbs un^ 

cler suspenders as if to take off pantaloons.) That will do^ Mr. Pow- 
ell; good day. Ha! Ha! Exi L. {Percy tries to take in the situation i 
Enters Lord Cressinglon R. with dogs and gun^ 
Lord C, Why, Percy, are you turning your apparel? 
Percy, {Gathering up clothing.) Turning? Why, Lord Cres- 
singtou; Pm turned wrong side out and that girl is trying to maker 
a panorama of me. 

Jjord Ci And succeeding ndfflifably. Ha! hal Cupid^s work 
again! But pray, who is this fsiir damsel who has caused such ^ 
gigantic derangement of your appearance? 

Percy, Who? Who should it be but Miss PoWj Soilimerset, 
Pretty Polly^ Miss Geralditie's sister. The most bewitching woman 
that ever wore— ^w ore— {Thinks) a bonnet. She lias stolen my 
hearty and run away with my affections, and how when 1 offer to 
throw in the rest of the individual/ she thinks it a case of orer pro- 
duction. 8he thinkis I Inight Bear the market you see^ 

Lord 0. Weli^ Percy^ I sincerely pity you and if it was fair Ger- 
aidine instead of her younger sister, I would not wonder at youi"^ 



10 TAHGLED LIVES. 

infatuation. But now that yoti ate nearly dressed, I Woiild trouble 
you to take mj gun and bag to the Hall, put the dogs in the ken^ 
nel and try for a time to forget this bewitching little siren, I shall 
try to extract some comfort from this rustic seat and inviting shade. 

ISits on seat JR, 

Percy. What! Going to give up the chase? Goitig to put the 
dogs away? Going to lie down there? Going to— -- — ^ 

Lord 0» Going to the Devil, man, you are going crazy. {Percy 
turns to go.) I say, Percy, carry this boquet of Wild flowers to 
Miss Gfiraldine with my best wishes. Mind the blind parson, now, 
that he does not see you make loYe to I^olly. Ha! ha! You are $, 
cunning dog. 

Petey. Good advice, tiiy lord. Do you not think Miss Gei'aldine 
Very charming? It strikes me that this shade has more attraction^ 
than one* 

Lord C, CoiHe* come, Percy, this is only a little flirtation of 
tnine* Nothing serious, you know. 

Percy. Kot.on her part^ my lord* vet 1 think your lordship 
tnight envy the smiles bestowed upon your friend Beaumont 1 
couldn't stand that! 

Lord C. Beaumont! (Starting up,) Why, man, he Was mat^ 
Hed only a week since. Ha! ha! ha! Wrong again, Percy. 

Percy. I may be Wrong, but Polly will set me right. (Touching 
hat,) rtn off. lExitL, 

Lord C. 1 believe he is half right; but, pshaw, what do I care! 
It's only a flirtation at most. [^Enters Eugene R.] .Ah, Beaumont 
how ate you? [Shake hands} Accept my heartfelt congratula-* 
lations, and regrets for not being able to attend your nuptuals* 
Pray, how did you leave my lady Beaumont. 

Eugene. Lady Beaumont is quite well, friend Oressington, but 
I fear your congratulations illy bespeak the future of a life of sorrow* 

Lord C. Tut, tut, Beaumont; this is no sentiment for a benedict 
of a week! Why, man alive, you are the envy of all the young 
noblemen of England. 

Eugene. And the most Unhappy inan in all the world. 

Lord C Ha, ha! Yours, indeed, is a queer case* Why, friend 



TAHGLED LIVES. It 

Beaumont, since I hare h^ard of jotir good fortune, 1 hate fof^ 
sworn bachelorhood and resolved to throw myself at the feet of th€ 
first great lady that deigns to grant me a smile. 

Eugene, Cressington, you are cruel. Men marry where their 
interests dictates and live a life of miserj^ in atonement. 

Lord C, Why, really, Beaumont^ you seetn serious. Has aily 
fair mermaid crossed your seas? Tell me, old fellow, and by thi?^ 
hand of mine [Offers hand.'] I promise to be your friend. 

Eugene, [Taking hand^l I believe you Cressington, but friend-* 
ship can avail nothing in my case. Love and remorse are consume 
ing fires that die, onlv with their victim. 

Lord 0. Is this honored possessor of your heart wealthy? 

Eugene. In beauty and virtue^ she is the peer of any lady in En^ 
gland. Would to God I had never met her; but as heaven has de-* 
creed otherwise^ I must succumb to fate and perform a duty that 
fills my whole being with anguish. [Turning to Cressington in an-^ 
guish.'] Cressington 4 I love Geraldine Sommersett [Cressington 
starts.\ ^s no man ever loved sweetheart. Shs is my life, my lights 
my --- 

Lord C* [Summoning self controLl^ Stop, man^ you must not 
talk in that manner. See; there is the young lady coming. Brace 
up, my friend, and meet fortune face to face* If you have wrongs 
ed yourself and her, let your life work out the atonement. I will 
retire to the Hall, there to await your coming. Remember, Eu- 
gene, that Lord Beaumont is the husband of a proud lady. [Ex. B^ 

Eugene, And a criminal in the sight of God! Oh, Geraldine^ 
this great sin will kill her! How can I be firm under this great 
sorrow? But I must! Lord Beaumont, you are the son of a noble 
family! Arm yourself with dig:nity, and put down this weakness f 
This IS but one of the many battles t<#^be fought With conscience 
and I must be firm. 

Enters Geraldine L, Bushes to Beaumont and thrGV)s arms 

around neck, 

Ger, Oh, Eugene^ Vm so glad you hav« come, 

Eugene. [Gently loosening her arms.'] Geraldine, my chiH, fof 
goodness sake^ be less demonstrative, You are really so rustic 
that — ' 



Oer. iBeMehingh/y] Oh^ Eugene, do not scold me. 

Eugene. How can I help ii» Farley njy mother's horror at slidli 
fecst^cies; 

Ger. I— I thought you would be glad to sfee iiie; but — — — 

Eugen^i Do Jou reproach mo, Get*alditie? 

Ger, IJPleadingly^'] Ko> ho! 1 do not reproach yOii; only teach 
ine to be what yon desire> and ohj 1 will try so hard [^Beaumont is 
silent as if to overGome his emotiousi — works foot— eyes riDited to floor] 
\_Geraldine taking hands.'] fiugene* deal^est^ why ate ydil sd 
changed? R^memb^i^ it is five months since I saw you; surely yoU 
In ay forgive a little impetuosity? 

Eugene. [Dropping her hands.] Monsehse, Gefaldinej yoU know 
I have nothing to forgiVe; and as for being changed) t suppose all 
change a little with absence and time; 

Ger, Oh do not say that dearest | I am not changed f I love yoU 
more fondly than evei^. 

Eugene^ I am sorry, GeraldinCi 

Ger, ^Strangely.] Sorry? 

Eugene. Do not repeat my words, fieMldinei t sjaid I Was sorry^ 
and i am SO3 for I must leave you immediately. 

Gern [Clasping her hands.] Leave me? 

Eugene. Yeg. My father's orders are imperative, t leav6 En^ 
gland in three daySi 

Ger. Oh, Eugene> yoti must not, you oahnot go! 

Eugene. Cannot! Arid why cannot? 

Ger. [Clinging to him.] Kot alone, Eugene 5 oh tiot atone! Toil 
will take me With yott, deatest? 

Eugene. Impossible! 

Ger, You must! 1 cannot stayi 

Eugene, Must? ^ 

Ger, Oh, EugenCi have some j^ity for Me! ^ol* thotiths I have 
kept this secret — have deceived my fohdj blind father^ for months 1 
1 have been—- — - 

Eugene-. (Grasping her drm) Hush! ttush, Woman! Ifou fire mad! 

Geri, 1 am ndt mad! (Kneeling.) But, On, EugehCj on my knees 
I implore you to aekuowledge me! Release me fi'om my promise f 
Husband it is your wife who is hUmbled at your fefetl 



TANGLED LIVES. 13 

Eugene. Good heavens, woman! Rise this moment! Geraldine! 

Qer. Promise me 

Eugene, ^Raising her.) I will not promise. I will not ruin every 
future prospect, simply to gratify an idle whim. 

Ger. < Clasped hands imploringly .) Have merc}^ darling! If not 
for me, have mercy on your child. 

Eugene. (Starting back.) My child? 

Ger. (Hiding face in hands aiid sobbing bitterly.) Yes, your 
child. {Staggers.) 

Eugene. iComing forward as if to caress her but recovers himself 
and takes her hands.) Geraldine, my poor girl, would to God I 
had never seen you. 

Ger. Holding his hands to her bosom, ) Oh, Eugene, do not kill 
me with. those unkind words. Believe me darling, I have no 
thought for myself. Bitter as is this terrible secret, I could have 
borne it for you MY HUSBAND; but my child, and youes, Eu- 
gene, must not be thought the child of shame. 

Eugene. Alas, Geraldine, it must. 

Ger. (Throwing doivn his hands and clasping own in dispair.) It 
must not! It SHALL NOT BE! 

Eugene. And you will break your oath? 

Ger. It was an impious oath! Heaven did not sanction it, and 
justice will release me from ii ! 

Eugene. Then this is your boasted love for me? You insist up- 
on my making public a disgraceful marriage which will blast all 
my future hopes? 

Ger, I require justice to my child, Eugene. 

Eugene. \_Savagely.~\ Then you shall have it. Such justice as 
the world gives to the wifeless mother. 

Ger. \_Clasping her templesJ] Merciful heaven! What are 
these words I hear? What do they mean? 

Eugene. They mean, that you are not my wife. 

Ger. \_Transfixed with horror — Hoarse with anguish.'] Say that 
again! Teli me again! I— I did not understand. 

Eugene. Geraldine [^Taking her hand. - 

Ger. [Withdrawing her hands'] Say that again! 

Eugene. Geraldine, I cannot repeat those words, I — I cannot 



U TANGLED LlVES. 

speak them. 

Ger. Speak! Am 1 not your wife? [Eugeiie shakes his head. 
It is not true! It cannot be! 

Eugene, Alas, it is. 

Ger, But the church, the ceremony! It is no dream: I was mar- 
ried! Do you hear, Eucrene? and YOU are MY HUSBAND, 

Eugene. How can that be when I was then married to another? 
\_Geraldine places hand to heart, moans, staggers, Beaumont catches 
her in his arms.'\ Poor darling, how cruel to betray her! 

Ger. [Moaningly'] Betrayed! Dishonored! Lost! 

Eugene. Geraldine, Geraldine, have courage. Since the hour I 
first met you I have loved you; and were it possible to save you this 
anguish, I would lay down my life for you. I have wronged you — 
deeply wronged you : But what redress I can make, I will, 

Ger, \_Rising.'] Redress?^- 

Eiigene. Yes; all that money can 

Ger. O, hush, hush! Do not speak of money! For my fathers 
broken heart he offers me gold! O, man! man! you have bowed a 
whole family in sorrow. Go! and if my tongue could curse where 
my heart has so fondly loved, I would pray that recolections might 
ruin the life that has so cruelly blio^hted mine. 

Eugene. Geraldine, Oh, Geraldine! leave me not with that with- 
ering curse! 1 have loved you dearly. 

Ger. [Turning quickly with wild gesture.'] Do not desecrate that 
vvord! I have not cursed you, Eugene; my heart is too much yours 
to curse. 

Eugene. I have not deserved your love or confidence, Geraldine; 
but for your father's, sister's sake, let me arrange matters for you, 
that they, at least, may be speared the torture this knowledge must 
inflict upon them. 

Ger, Confidence? Have I not trusted you? Have you not betray- 
ed me? 

Eugene. For your own, your fathers, sister's, child's sake I ask it 

Ger, [Wringing her hands.] In the name of Mercy do not speak 
of them! Was not their honor mine? Did 1 not confide it to you? 
Have you not betrayed them? 

Eugene, Be reasonable, Geraldine; what is past cannot be recall- 



TANGLED LIVES. 15 

ed; but it can be concealed. 

Ger. Concealed? Yes; go on. 

Eugene. My liberty is in your hands, Geraldine — — 

Oer. Can it ^ive me back my innocence? Can it give my child a 
name? Me a mother's jov — a wife's position? 

Eugene, You know, Geraldine, nothing can do this; but since 
publicity can only add to your distress, I beg you will listen to me. 
I '.vill arrano^e everything for you, my darling. [^Qeraldine turns par- 
tially away.'] Heaven knows how I would give my life to recall the 
past! \_Snatches a kiss and tears himself away .] My God, I can stand 
this no longer! 'lEx!t R. 

Oer. {Turns, places hand on heart, watches him depart — moans.) 
Gone Gone and I am ruined! {Sinks on stage in despair.) 

CURTAIN. 

Plaintive medley with joyous sequel. 



ACT II. 

Scene 1. Streets of London, Enters Percy with grip sack L, 

Peccy. {Setting doum grip sack.) Well, London is a big town. 
Lots of houses, lots of people — everybody's going somewhere and 
all in a hurrj^ I've traveled every street, visited every public 
place, examined every record but still no traces of the loved and 
lost. I sometimes think I will give up, but then, there's that irre- 
pressible conflict. {Places hand on stomach.) Let me once set ej^es 
on her again, and I'll cling to her like Lord Baconsfield to the 
chancelorship. {Picking up grip.) Well this won't do. I must 
sow if I expect to raap. {Goes E. and nearly runs over old Money 
Bags, entering.) Hello! What fossil have we here? {Examines.) 
Guess I've found the missing link! Going somewhere, stranger? 



16 TANGLED LIVES. 

Money B. (Staring around him, speaking gruffly.) Somewhere 
or nowhere; it's none o' your business. One thinks he is going 
somewhere by the time he gets to the top of yonder tenement. 

Percy. Poor old man. I beg a thousand paixions. Life in 
a tenement is hard enough for a man of your years without being 
run over by a Yorkshire biped. Here, Mathusela, is a crown for 
a holiday. (Gives money.) 'No hardness, I hope? 

Money B, (Snatching ,/money eagerly and places it in a large 
purse which he has co7icealed under his coat.) No, no! Hardness? 
Bless your soul. Good boy! Good boy! A little mistaken though. 
Poor? Ha ha! (Shakes hag at Percy.) 

Percy, You old fraud! (Kicks hag upon stage.) There, take that 
and my compliments. 

Money B, (Scrahhling around after money,) Oh my money, my 
money! Stop! Thief! Robbers! Police! 

Enters Lord Cresington R, Officers, L, 

Lord C. Well, well, Percy; what new feature is this? 

Percy, A little recreation for the old coon. I gave him a crown 
when I thought him needy and he insulted me by shaking his ill 
gotten gains in my face. So I kicked! See? 

Officer, (To Percy.) Careful, young man, careful! (To Money 
B,) Old man, you had best be about your business. Come, 
mosey! (Officer shoves Money B, offL, 

Lord C, Well, Percy, what news? As for myself, I am becom- 
ing despondent of ever finding our refugees in the metropolis. 

Percy. Never say die, my lord; **raint heart ne'er won fair 
lady." 

Lord C, True Percy, but have we not exhausted every means 
within our reach? 

Percy. All but one, my lord. That old Shylock has just given 
me a new idea. You stand referee, and I'll visit every tenement 
house in London. 

Lo7'd C, Splendid idea, Percy, and I will share your labors. 

Percy. Good, my lord; seal it and we're off. 

[Clasp hands and exit L. 
Draws off to Scene 2. — Tenement Chamber, 

Geraldine discovered sitting L, F. sewing, — Polly standing at sky- 



TANGLED LIVES, 17 

light B, Lounge L. Bear. Chair B. F. 

Ger, {Letting sewing fall in lap as if weary.) Sister, why do you 
stand looking-down the sky-light so intently? 

Polly. I was thinking, Geraldine, how elevated we are, and yet 
how lowly. At what a giddy height we are I 

Ger. We are, indeed, separated from the world in distance and 
I fear in memory. 

Folly. Gerdie, we are very poor and I sometimes think we must 
starve. Only think; it is two long days since we have tasted food. 
Do \o\\ know I sometimes think I will v/rite to Percy and ask him 
to help us? 

Ger. Poor darling, I know you suffer and for your sake I would 
consent; hut do not write 3'et. I cannot bear the thought of Lord 
Cressington knowing our condition. We may starve, but w^e must 
not beg. 

Folly. {Leaves sky-light and comes feebly to Geraldine.) Ger- 
aldine, I am very weak today, and I feel as if I could stand this no 
longer. Will you grant me one favor, darling? It vrill relieve my 
mind. 

Ger. Certainly, darling, anything to make you happy. 

Folly. O, Gerdie, I fear to ask you. I fear it will grieve you. 

Ger, Dear Polly do not distress yourself. Are you not all I 
have in tliis world to live for? Have 1 not always been a good sis- 
ter to you, and done all in ni}' power to make you happy ? 

Folly. Yes, Gerdie, but it is so strange. 1 can remember some- 
thing way back when I was a little girl about a cold dark night 
and I was so sick, and nowhere to go. Aud then I remember I 
was in a warm bed and you came to me and said I was to be your 
sister. Oh, what a nice home and I was so happy! But Gerdie, 
did 3'ou ever learn who I am? 

Ger. No, Polly, only that you are the sweetest, truest and best 
of sisters. Father tried to find out whose child you were, but we 
never knew other than that he found you nearly frozen one night 
when duty kept him longer in the city than usual, and tliat you 
said your name was Polly, He brought you home, nursed you 
back to life, and made a home for you as one of his own children. 

Folly y And God blessed him for his goodness! 



Ger. i^es, and his goodniBss is ^xeiiiplified in your constancy to 
the self constituted exile; 

Folly. {Kneeling hy her side.) Dear sister, — for sncli you will 
always be to me, — I know you love me, but you are so sorrowful 
You used to be so happy, but now you sca-rcely smile, I fear some 
great sorrow has come to you^ Will you, kind sister, let me shartT 
it with you? 

Gen Oh, Polly, do not speak of it! I dare not tell you, for I 
know 3^ou would spurn me! Let the past remain bidden and all 
my life shall pay a ransome for my great si}i and shamC' 

Folly. ^Sin! My pure, innocent sister guilty of crime? Impos- 
sible! I know you are guiltless though all the world were against 
yoa* 

Gev: Dear sister, how generous! Your love Is so^unaelJish, that 
your courage gives me strength. 

Folly, (Biding Una leaning on lie?' shoiXlrUr.) Gerdie, J. know 
there is a great sorrc^w^ next j^our heart: but I also know^ that what- 
ever it may be, you never intended wrong. 

- Gei\ {Rising and placing Folly in her chair?) No! Wheh I loved 
Eugene Beaumont and consented to be his wife, I thought no evil; 
^m\ when before that altar I promised to love and honor, I thought 
my life w^ould be bright and happy. 

Folly ^ Geraldine, were you niarried to Lord Beaumont? 

Ger. I thought I w^as, but alas for human hopes* Less than t(in 
months had elapsed When I aWoke to find it a false marriage. Two 
months later I was a mother^ I Inh^e never se^^n rriy babes. 

Polly -^ Oh that Wicked, wicked man! God will never f'-^rgive 
him! ' 

Gei\ Don't, Polly, I caimot beat' to hear yoii blame him. TrU(^ 
he has Wronged me, but I can never know him other than as I 
loved hinii. tie was good and noble, and I have fairhin him to be- 
licYe this great sorrow was not his faults 

Folly: But he has forsaken 3'Ou? 

GeVi No! All through my sickness he would never leave my 
side. lie supplied my every wish, and urttil I fled from his bounty 
I never knew want. But I could not endure it. Those sunkeil 
'eyes, and that sad, sad smile, will follow me to m.y grave-. Pollys 



TANGLED JjVES5. 19 

I lore Eugene Beaumont, thoug-ji I were to die at his hands, t 
need not recount the hardships vv*e have encountered since yon 
came to me: they are too plainly Written here; {Placing hand on 
Folly^s cheek.) I often grieve to see you suffer, but I pray for, death 
to end my misery^ 

Polly. {Leaning head against fieri) Dear Gerdie, you are so good* 
so kind, and I love you better for your misfortunes God will sure- 
ly reward you for such loyalty, but sister, I am very, very weak- 
May I not lie down? 

Ger-. {Assisting Polly to lounge',) Yes, darling, lie there and rest- 
{Aside) Poor child, I fear she is ilL 

Polly. {Half rising .) Gerdie, I am growing Worse; I am so gid^ 
dy! Give me a drink of water, quick; and oh| Just one crumb of 
bread. I am so hungry! 

Ger. (Handing water.) Dear, dear sister, %ve have no bread i 

Polly, {Sinking back.) And I am so hungry! 

Ger. (Clasping her hands.) Poor darling she is starving! 

Polly, {Struggling,) Geraldine! Help! They are choking me- 
{Utters a moan and lies back in a faint,) 

Ger, {Watching over her and rubbing Her hands.) Oh, lledven, has 
It come at last! My darling sister is dying ^Yith. hungf^r! Polly^ 
Polly, look up darling! Speak to tne! Speak to your sister! Oh do 
not leave me; I cannot let 3X^u go.- {Wringing her hands.) Oh mer- 
eifui God, spare me this great airliction! Do not take her from me'^ 
Oh, this is more than I can endure! {Kneels in prayer.) 

Finters Money Bag?^ Ri 2. 

Money Bs. {Going to Where (rer^ is in prayer, hits her with foot.'] 
Here, girl, wTuit nre you doing down thereP ^iet ii]i here: I waul 
my rent. 

(reri {Pises, turns to him with cictsped htxnds.) Mave mercy, sir, 
my sister is dying "with hunger.= We will pay you ev^ry penny 5 
only let us stay until she get>?well/ . 

Money Bi Gets Avell? I thought you said rfie Itas dyhigl- 
{Pushes her aside i^ov^hly — Percy appears R. 2> — Money B; goes to 
couch and roughly slaps Potlyh facei) Wake up here giii; none of 
your possoms around lu^-^'- 



20 TANGLED LIVES. 

* Enters Percy R, 2, 

Percy. (Shakes his head.) I can't stand that! (Catches old Money 
B, by coat collar and seat of pantaloons, carries Mm to sky-light B. 3. 
and throws him down.) Go down there you old shark, Til settle 
with 3^ou at the club. Miss Sommersett, your sister! What lias 
happened? Something must be done. (Goes to louyige and places 
hand on Polly' s face.) 

Oer, Oh, Percy, God has sent you ! 

Peccy. Oh, no, Miss Geraldine, I'm not Gabriel! No miracle 
about this. But what's to be done? Haye you any brandy? 

Ger, Nothing, nothing. * 

Percy. That's my medicine eyery time! \_Ex. R. 2. in haste. 

Ger, (Goes to couch, takes Polly's hands, rubbing them.) Oh dar- 
ling, come back to me! Surely you will not go when help is so 
near! 

Re-enters Percy with bottle a7id basket. 

Percy. (Sets basket C, takes bottle and ]Dlaces to Polly's lips.) Here 
Miss Summersett, we must get some of this brandy into her mouth, 
then a little nourishment will do her good (Polly strangles ) 

Ger- Stop! Percy, you will strangle her! (Percy sustaines Polly 
while Geraldine wipes her mouth.) 

Polly. Father Mother 

Ger. Polly, Polly, look here dear; open your eyes, darling, Percy 
has come. 

Polly: And will he drive us away if we cannot pay? 

Percy, (Turning away and wiping eyes.) I can't stand than! 

Ger. No, no, darling; it is not the landlord. It is }onr old friend 
Percy Powell. Do you not remember him? 

Polly. (Rubbing her eyes.) Yes, j^es; and we have got home? He 
was always so kind. 

Percy. (Much affected.) I can't stand that! 

Ger. Oh Mr, Powell, speak to her! She will know your voice. 

Percy. Miss Sommersett, Polly, rouse up dear! Oh darling, I have 
found you at last! Do speak to me. 

Polly. (Looking up wild — recognises Percy and sinks into his arms 
— Weeps.) Oh, Perc}^ Percj', have you come to save us? 



TAlSTGLEb LIVES. 2l 

t^M Gressington appetif^s at JR. 2 

Percys {Supporting Folbj—imlch Ciffectedr) 1 eatiH statid that! 

l^nters Lord Cressingtoi^ B- 2, 

Lord tt (Goes to Qeraldine, takes hands.) Found at last! Oh Mis^ 
Sommersett, Geraldin^l von cah iletef know how I hats searched 
for you! Months have I traveled thia great city/ to find some clue,= 
some sign; by which I might know that you still lired. Love ha9 
lent me persererance^ and at last, 1 hare fouiid my treasuts* 

Ger, You are very kindj Lord Cress»ingoD: God will reward your 
goodness- 

Lord Ci But I ask no rewai'd, Geraldine, other ttiari the poses- 
sion of the treasure I ha%'e found; 

Geri Lord Cressington — ^ 

Lo?rl C: Don't, Geraldine, until yot! hare beard iiie.- t havef 
loved you since first we met' I have cherished that love until it 
has become all-absorbing,- I have dVeltupon eaehsrriile you have* 
*^ver bestowed upon me, and now I come iKneeling) and humbly 
beseech you to accept home, fortune and a loving heart' JJo not 
refuse me Geraldine, for without you, my life t^-ould be otie oi 
wretchedness^- 

Geri Rise, Lord CVessiri^ton; toil MnoW noi Ivhat yoil askf 
Think of the social bar between us, aiid— and (CWer^ face vjith 
hands.) oh the past, that horrible past! 

Lord Ci {Takiiig her hands fforn- her f dee.) Geraldine, darling.- 
do not distress yourself! What i« Wealth and position withor t you j' 
I will cast them from nie — — — 

Ger. {Trping to free her hands.) But then tile past — Oh I— 

Lord 0. Do not mention ii darling';- 1 leio^v alL- I have it froni 
Lord Beaumont's own lips^ and now^ humbly entreat yo'ti io be- 
come my wife^ ¥ou may not lore me, but yott can, at least re- 
spect. I will gladly be your slave;^ I Will watch (?ver and guard 
you, and your slightest wish shall be my (5are. Look at that poor, 
helpless sister, and if not for your own sake, for hers^ Listen to 
me, and she shall be mad^ \v<\.\jp}~ 

Ger, Lord Cressingt(?n, you are indeefd ^ ndbleniari.- I do re- 
n;*ect you, and a;S far as duty can take the place of love,- so far, I 



2-2 TANGLED LIVES. 

will be your wife. 

Lo7xl C. {Drawing her to him.) Gerakliiie, my own true love! 
You have made me the happiest man in Engiancl. Your sister 
shall 

Percy. {Bising and supporting Folly.) Please, sir, I have always 
served you well. Have I not, my lord? 

Lord C. Yes, yes, Percy, you are indeed worthy to be crovrned 
a prince. 

Percy. Then confer a greater pleasure by granting your ap- 
proval of the union of this lovely, helpless girl and myself. 

Lord C. With iill my heart, Percy, and my blessing shall follow. 

Polly. Geraldine? ^ -. / 

Crer. {Going forward.) Yes, darling, and may your life ])e as 
happy as your purity deserves. 

Lord C. Was ever God so bountiful in his blessings? Let us 
be thankful. {All kneel.) 

Percy. I can't stand that. 

CURTAI]Sr. 



TAXGLED LIVES, 



AFTER 20 YEARS. 



ACT III. 

Scene. 1. Parlor iii Beauraont Castle, Sofa L, Table B. iqitli 3 
chairs. Beg inald appears B. 2, — Enters, folloiced by Wilson in half 
mask. 

Beg, Everytliiiig is in oui frnor. The room deserted and no 
one in the closet. 

Wil. Shall we begin work at once? 

Beg, No, no I I only wished to give you a few instructions so 
that in case of ]ny capture, you can do the j(d3 alone. 

Wil. I am all attention, my lorct: 

Beg. In yonder closet is kept the gold and plate. It can be en- 
tered onlv from this room, which is carefully oruardedbv the steAV- 
ard. after the house is closed for the night. 

Wil, Vfhen do we make the attempt, my lord? 

Beg After the family has retired while the steward is closing 
the house for the night. 

Wil, Did you say your father. Lord Beaumont, would leave the 
castle for Paris tomorrow? 

Beg, Those were the arrangements at our last interview. 

Wil. Why not postpone this matter until after his departure? 

Beg, Because I am in immediate danger of arrest. 

Wil, The forgery! Was it discovered? 

Beg. Yes. The Bank knew my father's hand writing too well 
for me to deceive them. It was a clever trick but a failure. 

Wil. {Listening.) Hark! Was that a footfall? They are ap- 
proaching. Where do we secrete ourselves. 

Beg. This way to a time better suited to our plans. 

\_Ex. B. 2. followed by Wilson. 

Enters Lord Beaumont L. 1. 

L'jrd B. I thought I heard voices. {Looks around room.) Au- 



U JANGLED LiVES. 

btber illusion; I ani so Unhianhetl of late, that the least hdisd 
startles me; My life's sorro\v weighs heavier aj? years advance^ 
Twenty years hare dragged their slow length betweeil iriyv4(>lf and 
happiness, and I find no relief. Then, Reginakrs conduct of late, 
has become a source of great anxiety; I fear the hoy has gone to 
the bad beyond recall; I know not what nionient he will over^ 
Veach the bounds of the law and bring ruin and disgrace upon us? 

MiiUrs Lady Au^ustA R\ 1, verpjkebtei 

Ah, niy lady, you are looking better thivS evening. 

Lady A. My lord, have you seen our son, Reginald? He sent 
his valet to infornl nid that he Wished to see me privately, 

Lord B, 1 have not, my dear, I have been spared that unpleas- 
antness. May I assist you to a seat? {Leads' he?' to sofa.) 

Lady A, Thanks, your lordship, I am very weak. It is a great 
Exertion for me to leate my I'oofti. Only for that boy w^ould I at- 
tempt iti 

Lord B. You slidw hini great kindness. I w'ish lie might jiroA^e 
himself worthy of your consideration. 

Lady A, Indeed^ nly loM, you judge too severely. Iteginalcl 
may be a little Wild, but he is tOo niuch of a LaScelles ever td h^. 
guilty of crime. Henlenlb^r, Lord Beauniont, h^ is yOui^ son as 
well as niin^. 

Lord B i renleirlber all, niy dear, and eantiot fdrget that sinc^ 
iie l^ft college h6 has led a very wild and clissij^atecl lif6; I hav^ 
^uppliied hini regularly wMth his allow^ant^e — ^vhidhhaa be^h large— 
beside I surmise h^ has i^e}i(^atedly recielvect remittances fi*om you; 
Am I not right? 

Lady Ai I— I— Well, really. Lord Beaiiriiont, t have a right if t 
bhoose; 

Lord It. Tory tiHle, niy lady, but with all tiiis, he has contract- 
ed heav}' obligations and rushed liead-long into all channels of 
Vice. This very day I paid one of his ganlblihg debts of a thous- 
and soverignsi 

Lady A: {l%fdudng up hd7ids diid stdrtmg to feet-.) Gambling? 
impossible! He could not degrade himself to that! 



TAl^GLED LIVES. 25 

iorcl B, Alas, my deai\ this is not ?vll. Only yesterday t saw a 
^air young creature whx> had supped of the dregs of shame; beg- 
g^ing for brefod. When our sori passed hef, she cried to him to re- 
lieve her of the wretchedness of which HE Was author, A little 
inquir}^ showed her to be one of his college pastimes whom he 
4uid Cast off for newer subjects. In fact, raadame, not a day passes 
but I hear of some new crime. He has dtag^^d the aame of Beau- 
mont through the gutter in his drunken orgies and connected it 
with every shade of crluie. This day have I posted him as not the 
iieir of Befiumo^.t, and for wfeom. I would pay ne ransome. 

Lady A, And let liim go to priso-a for debt? Oh, this is terrible! 
Lead me to my room; I can never endure iti 

Lord B^, {Offering his arm.) Better the piisxm thaa the scaffold. 

-Ex.. B. i, 
inters Laby Dorcas L. 

Ladf i>, t thofight 1 heard Et^geoe. it is nearly time for our 

•gu^ests to arrive and i v/ished to prepare him for the surpcise. <Foor 

"boy, his, ifid.eed, is fo li^e of sorrow. Kow different from the kappy 

:youth of twenty. If 1 could only know the source of this great 

sorrow, I might adi^iinistet to Ms reMel I w4U at least laake oai 

'effort. 

Enters Lord Beaumont R. i^ 

Lei'd B. i>id !y(m desrre me, a»n^ Doroas-P I lia've just assisted 
^Lady -Beatiraont to her room. 

Lady B. My lady is very peoRy of late. She cannet endure tlie 
^ares of this life much longer. 

Lordj B. Yes indeed, she is very poorly. 

Lady D. Our lady needs rest but her consort r^ust kav6 a dif- 
^erer^t treatmeat. May I EOt prescribe for him? 

Loi'd B. I fear, being ignorant cf -the difScu-lty., your treatraeat 
Tnust creeds fail. 

Lady LK And may I tiot kr.ow the caiiseP 

Lord B. ^Starting,^ No, no, au?3t, you ontsst not know the 
'cause. It is my life's seoret. 

Lady L, (^goingtohim^and'layinghandoiihisarm.) And why 
*^.ot te>.l me Eog?^ne"' -Ha>^e \ E^t tJways been your friend? 



26 TANGLED LIVES. 

L(yrd B. Yes. j^es; but you would not have me reveal that which 
Wvouhl cause you to despise me forever? No, no! Better let the 
crime die with the crirainai. 

Lady D. Eugene, do not try to put me off. If you have done 
wron<^, it was throu^'h tlie instrumentality of others, I have ever 
striven to lighten your sorrow, and for that purpose have invited 
our old friends. Lord aryi Lady Cressington {Beaumont starts.^ to 
sjDend a few days with us, and they will be here immediately. 

Lord B. Then I leave the castle at once! I can never look up- 
on her face; guilty wretch that 1 am. 

Lady I). What! Not recieve Lord and Lady Cressington? 
>Vhat CAN this mean? 

Lord B. Lady Dorcas, you will wring my secret from me! Lady 
Cressington is my lawful wife. (Lady B. throws ujj hands and 
^tart>^ back in surprise.) Curse me if you will, my punishment can 
be no more. {Hands to his face and staggers. 

Lady I). Laying hand on. his arm.) I will not reprove you, 
Eugene; but Lady Augusta is —— 

L.cjrd B. Is the woman my parents forced me to marry for GOLD ! 

Lady D. Had you children, Eugene? 

Lord B. Yes, a son and daughter; twins. We were married 
montlis before 1 met Lady Augusta, and at my request kept secret. 
She has never seen the children but believe-s our marriage a false 
one and her children witliout a name. 

Lady D, And the children? 

Lord B, Have been educated at a private school with the son 
of the unacknowledged wife of Gilbert Cressington, whom I have 
lured to care for them. The same school where Reginald was a 
pupil. 

[jady IJ. Do the children know their history? 
Lord B. No. They believe Mrs. Falconer their mother, and 
look upon me as their benefactor and friend. Believe me auni 
Dorcas, all tiu^ happiness I have ever known has been the hours 
spent in their society. 

Lady T). (Taking his hand.) Eugene, you have done well to 
conhde this secret to me. You will stay to receive Lord and Lady 
Cressington, while I dispatch a messenger to bring the childr en 



TAISTGLED LIVES. 2 7 

to the castle. 

Lord B. 1 have sent for them to spend this evening with us prior 
to m}' intended visit to Paris. {Noise outside.) Some one has ar- 
rived, and I think it must be them. Please welcome them from the 
carriage. {Exit Lady D. door rear,) Alas, must I meet Geraldine 
face to face. 

Enters Earnest, Edith and Edward. 

{Sam.r}ioni7ig control.) Good evening, my young friends; I hope 
you have enjoyed your journey? {Earnest and Edith take his hands . 

Earnest. Very much, my lord. 

Edith. Oh, it was just splendid! But you are looking ill? 

Ijord B. Only weary. {Holding out hand to Edward.) And 
how fares my young friend Edward? 

Edward. Well and happy, your lordship. 

Edith. Edward is resting upon his honors, my lord. Do you 
not think he has grown stately since adding those horrid letters to 
his name? 

Lord B. I sincerely congratulate you Edward upon your suc- 
cess at college, and am honored by your friendship. 

Edward.. Your friendship is highly prized. I trust I may al- 
w^ays remain worthy of your esteem. 

Lord B, Do that which is right, Edward, be a noble man and 
you will always have friends. 

Edith. A nobleman without title my lord. 

Lo/yI B. Impossible, Edith; the title is written in the act. Be- 
side, Edward may yet stand forth before the world as one of 
England's most honored noblemon. 

Enters Lady Dorcas R. 3. 

Lady D. Would our young friends wish to be shown their 
rooms? They are in readiness. 

Lord B. Yes, children, and when you have rested from your 
journey I shall be happy to enjo}' your company. 

Earnest. Which we shall be pleased to contribute. \Ex. Edith, 
Earnest and Edward hoicing, E. 3. 

Lord B. How beautiful Edith has grown. She is the exact 



28 TANGLED LIVES, 

picture of Geraldine. God grant that her heart may know ild s'licli 
withering sorrow. 

Enter Servant with cards, i)= TL 

Servant. My Lord and Lady Cressington. 

Lord B, Show them In at ouce, ^Ex, Servant, D, R^'] Movf 
for strength to be calm. 

Enters Lord Cressington, Gekaloine^ and Gei^alu, B. B. 

Welcome ray old friend to Beaumont Castle. [Extending hand io 
Lord (\ then to Geraldine. — Lord Beaiirmmt and Oeraldine evince 
emharrasswent.] And yonr worthy lady, a thotisand times welcoinev 
Lady Dorcas i& with oitr young friends, bnt will retnrn in ^ 
moment. [Hand to Gerald.'] And this yoimg geMlen^an I haT^ 
the honor to welcome? 

Geraldine. Is Gerald,- my myti:. Lord Beanmonl. 

L.ord B. Your &on ? {Staggers, is caught by J^ord (L 

Enters Lai>^ Dobc'as K. T4,- 

Lady ly. [^Rushes ta his side, rings bell^ — Seri^ents enter R.- S.j 
Cr*rr7 yoiir master to^ the open air; thi^ atnsospiitere >s loo oppres- 
sive. [^Servants assist Lord C. in carridng L^rd Beaumont ont^ 
down rear ^ — Ueraldine sinks mi sofa. '^ M| laefy^ ^'e yotf iliP Le^ 
me ring for assistance, 

Ger. Ko, no,. I am^ betternow^it i&oMy asKght we&rii^ess fron^ 
my journey. 

Lady J). [AsideJx Ah^ my lady bas siTiferexJ as- well jss- be.- Two^ 

BKOKEN HEARTS IN EXCHANGEE- FOR GOI.I>. 

Enters Editb, Ei)War]& and Harness, K. 3,- 
» 

Ah, my jnxmg friends, an3 yon- weB restedF Allow me Iter acqtiainf 
yon with Lady Cressi^ngton, Lady Cfessington-this-ie my nt?phew's' 
friend, Miss Edith,- [they einbrace']^ Mr. Es/rnest; [hand greeting'] Mr.- 
Edward, [bow, 

Ger. 1 am only too happy to meet these jom^ ^eopTe.— SaTc?^ 
yon friends Miss Edith? 

Edith. Oh, yes; Lord Beaxrmont is' a very d^a^ friend of mu&,^ 

Ger, Have you a moiiver? 



TANGLED LIVES. 29 

Edith. Oh, yes; Mrs. Falconer is my mother, and these are my 
two brothers, Lady Cressington, Earnest is my tvvin brother. 

Ger. You are indeed blest with two such brothers, Mr. Earnest 
I shall be pleased to know you better: and I extend an earnest re- 
quest that you young; people visit us at the Hall before the season 
is over. 

Edith. 1 shall be pleased to accept ybur invitation, Lady Cres- 
sington, and iiow that my brothers are out of college they will no 
doubt be pleased to accompany me. 

Edward. Certainly; the country must be delightful. 

Lad.y D. Lady Cressington is doubtless very fatigued. May I 
show you to your boudoir, my lady? 

Gei\ If you please; I am very weary. \Ex. Lady B. and Ger.E.2. 

Earnest. Let us find Lord Beaumont, Edwarji, he maybe out in 
the garden. 

Edward. Excuse us, fair sister. \Ex. Ear. and Edw. D. R 

Edith. \^Seating herself on sofa.'] What a beautiful lady! I feel 
as if I had always known her. Such a sad, sweet face! 1 know I 
shall love her. 

Enters Reginald, R. 1, hoiving. 

Reg. Ah, my pretty school-mate, I am happy to meet you. At 
last I have the opportunity, I have long sought. {Taking seat on 
sofa beside Edith who has not risen. — Fiits arm around her. 

Edith. {Rising indignantly.] Sir, permit me to return to my 
room, 1 have been 

Reg. {Forcing her down beside him.] Do not distress yourself, 
fair Edith, Every one knows I am with you, and how much I love 
you. 

Edith. Unhand me sir, I will go! {Struggling, gets away, — Reg- 
inald stands confronting her. 

Reg. You would not object if it was Edward instead of myself, 
who w^as your companion. 

Edith. My brothers, sir, would not detain me against my will. 

Reg. And why not? 

Edith. They are gentlemen. 

Reg. Very flattering upon my honor! And so you compare 



30 TAXGLED LIVES, 

your beggarly brothers to the heir of Beaumont? * 

Edith. You mistake, sir; I did not compare them. I would iiot 
do them that injustice. 

Reg. Come, come, my proud queen, we will leave the subject 
and talk of something of interest to ourselves. \_HoJ(Ung out his 
hands.'] You know, Edith, I love you. Be mine, and I will beat 
you away to the sunny climes of fairer lands. 

Edith. 1 do not wish to marry; beside I should not wish to in* 
duce you to contract an alliance with a beggarly family. 

Reg. What a bewitching little darling you are I {Attempts to 
kiss her. — She struggles and strikes him a smart blovJ on the checl. 

Edith. Do not touch me yoti viper. 

Reg. [Ruhhing his face and placing back agani.ri aour, R .j i'oii 
little vixen! But you shall not escape until I have told you some* 
thing of Edward. [Edith looks up.l Interested, eh? Can yoil e>£- 
plain his manner lately? 

Edith. No, 1 

Reg. Then I will tell you. He loves yotr, 

Edith. 1 know that, he has always loved me. 

Reg. But he loves you no longer as a brother. His caresses' ar^ 
those of a lover. 

Edith. A lover? You are mad I He is my brotbeT. 

Reg. And lovek. 

Edith, Impossible. 

Reg. It is true. But I have another secret 

Edith. Another? 

Reg. Yes. His loye is returned: you share his gnilty passioii". 

Edith. Wretch 1 Base slan-derer! L^t me g^o! 1 will not Ii.«teff 
to your vile insinuations. IRushes to the doar: hf fries /o stop hfr 
.she tears aivaif from him and escapes D R. 

Reg. [Shakes fist with rage] You shall repent this young Isdy' 
In the very depths of misery you shall repeM those won^. 

Enters Wilson R, L 

Wilson. Did you call, my lord? It ^ getting late aiid the" stew-- 
ard is closing the outer gate. 
Reg, Yes Wilson, we might as v/ell get at work-. Yo^i sta?>J 



TANGLED LIVES. :^1 

^IVard bebind thB sofa while I force th^ door. Remember it is 
tieath baiora det«ctioD> iWilso?2 c?rnjch4^s heJilnd .iojCL — Beglnuld 
forces dry ' "' •' ^^ an-d exit L, 3. 

E/it^rs Lady AvGt'>Tx. R. -. 

Ladj/ A, i'-'^'/-^J liegiaaldl Reo-iiiakll f >r>.y f^t,>-(:> iufj,- uiirn 
mid screams^ R-obbers! Help! Miii\ler! '{JMUoni'is^.sandpres. 
— Lady As places hand to temple leaving red stain on temple and 
falls. KegifiTild rushts-in from closet, sees his mrjlken . 

Beg. Wtete}>, yow h^„ve killed my mt)tbt:r! 

curtail: 

Tableau: First curiaiiu Reginald ir-th arnicn sicord, roooer 7in- 
■masked crouehed in fear. Second curtain: Bobber fallen^ Reginald 
'Standing over him. vMh half shielded swc*^rL 



ACT IT. 

^CE^fi 1 — Garden at Beaumont Castle — Enters Percy with Mss. 

Ferci/. Iferty y^ars of my Hfe ha^e bees spent in deddino^ what 
X. am iHost stred to do; and novt^ that Ixjannot expect more than 
forty years In wfeich te complete my great work, I have resolved to 
tPtrn my attention to Letters. What is meant by letters in a gener- 
al way, is writing npon the Arts and Sciences, with a little fiction 
now and then perhaps. — Oh I'm a po^ver on Miction. 1 don't mean 
these little, short, business letters that cotne with the be^inins: of 

' or? 

^very nrt^nth and close M^ith the post-script ''Please Remit.*' I nevt^r 
did fancy that stx'le of correspondence and have, like some others I 
4iave knov/D, songht to frown it down by paying no attention to it. 
-NTr^w 3f Pf-vu '.\/->..]:J .'>ni',- 'M^preeiate my ability. 1 might soon stand 



32 TANGLED LIVES. 

on the top round of the ladder of fame: but there's the trouble; no. 
body appreciates my ability! Maybe it\s my cl(;thes that makes me 
look so! How humiliating to a gentleman of culture for his wife to 
sa.y: "Percy, go feed the pigs!" 'Tercy. rock the cradle'' or "Percy 
Powell, please dry up that eulogy.'' I sometimes tliink I will assert 
my independence and say WON'T! Wouldn't that make a breeze? 
But I can't stand everything! A. man ought to be the head of the 
family; and I will, too. [Futs tliumbs in arm pits and paces R. andL. 

Enters Reginald R. Hat in hand. - 

Reg. Ah; I trust I do not intrude, [hope I have the honor of 
meeting a gentleman. 

Percy. Yes, sir! A gentleman of h trers who will soon furnish 
to the press one of the most magnihcent articles on the Arts and 
Sciences the world has ever read. A work 

Reg. Exactly, exactly, and to whom am I indebted for this con- 
fidence? 

Percy. Ah, yes; I had forgotten. My name is Powell, Percy 
Powell Esq., of Yorkshire. Anything to serve your lordship? 

Reg. Yorkshire, ah yes. You perhaps know the Falconers? 
Miss Edith Falconer? 

Percy. Very true, my lord. A fine family, but vciT poor. 

Reg. I see you are a gentlemcUi of great observation and a fine 
talent Mr. Powell, and shall therefore intrust ycui with a ^'ery im- 
portant errand, in which the Avelfare of Miss Editli is an impor- 
tant factor. \_Producing letter.'] See tliat Miss Edith gets this billet- 
doux at once, and consider me ever your friend for advancements. 
I'SIi'ps money into his hand, shaking his hand.] I trust (;ur acquaint- 
ance may prove advantageous to {)ot]i. ^ [Ex. R. 

Percy. [Plcn-es letter in pocket and looks at nioney.] Whew! That's 
a bouncer! xi five pound note in five minutes. Why, that's equal 
to the Ilothchild's income. That's the wtiy we literary fellows 
take in the shekels. 

Enters Polly L. 
Polly. \_Coming down front. ] What great speculation are you 



TAKVILED LIVES. 39 

|»*oiiig' Into now, I'd like to know? 

Percy. Why, Polly, I'm going to be the richest nlin in York^ 
;^hire. Wh3^ I just told a gentleman [ was a man of letters and 
he gave nle a five pound note as a starter. Now what do yoii 
^hink of my literary talent? Look hei'e, Polly, don't she shiner 
[ShoWb money i Polly snatches it away from hint.] 

Folly. rU take care oi that. Oh, that wall buy just a love of 'A 

bonnet. 
Percy. Poih% I can't stand that. I tell yoii I am a man of let^ 

lers. Fm a — 

Polly, A man of liddle sticks. It \r^ time you milked that cow. 

[Starts to go L.] Come on. 
Percy. To thunder with the covvl i say Polly. I'm going to — ^ 
Polly. You'r going to follow me. iS tamps her foot.'] Come on I 

^ay, 

Percy. Polly, I say I won't. I'm going to turn ailthor and - 

Polly Percy Powell^ I tell yoii to come and milk that cow. Do 

yon hear me? 

Percy. But PoUy^ my aspii'ations ai'ei abote the — ~^ 

Polly. Your aspirations to grass, i Goes to him, takes by the eaf 

and leads him off the stage L.) I tell you I want you to milk thatdovv^ 
Pereyc Of course IMl go if yon want me to. The mild powers 

always subdne. 



Sc^JNfi 2, Draii^s off to a r<3om in the mU hditnts of Loridon^^tleg' 
iitald diseovef^d pacing the floor, — yitoot P, Pi — Doot in fedf. 

Beg. {Consulting watch,) Ten thirty- It is the time appointed, 
and she is not hei'e. Perhaps that old Bnzzai'd never gave her th^ 
letter. Pshaw! how foolish; of course i^lie will come,- Yillain in- 
deed! I'll show her that the heir of Beaumont Can command bet^ 
ter treatment' Sat hat Wretch, am I? We Will seef what a few 
days confinement in this beautiful abode will do toward softening 
epithets. Ah! She is coming! {Knock at door.) I'll just stejD aside 
^i} as not to embiirass the timid creature.- i Steps into corner L) 



U TANGLED LIVES. 

MdWu (Looking around.) JSTo one here? Surely I could not 
have missed the addi'ess! Let me see. {Takes folded pajjer from 
bosom and reads.) "Darling Sister: I must see you once befoi^e I go» 
fori shall never visit England again* Do not speak to any one of 
this, but come to me at 10:30, 2^ Dowling. Signed, Edwat*d/* 
{Looking around.) Surely, this must be the place. {Beg. steps out 
of hiding place. Edith looks at him in amazement,) Mr. Beaumont, 
there is some mistake. I came here to ^ee EdwaMi 

Beg. {Bowig low^) Certainly not sweet Edith, seeing that Ed« 
Ward sailed a fortnight ago, 

Edith. But he wrote to me? 

Beg-, Another mistake! He did not Write to you! Acknowl» 
^dge it a clever imitation. 

Edith, Who wrote this lettet^P 

Beg. Your humble servant. 

Edith. Did you dare to write falsely? 

Beg. Do not be angiy my fair one. Men play a high hand 
When the stakes are great Besides you know "All is fair in love 
and wai\'' 

Ediths LoVe! Do not speak that Word! Villain and coward 
that vou ai'el 

Beg^ Spai'e yoiir tempeiS Edithv If you knew 

EditK I will not stayl Let m<e go this instant! Your father* 
ishall know of your conduct! 

Begy. Nonsense, my love; sit down and listen to me. It is the 
Wisest thing you can do, for your fair fame is in my hands. 

Ediths In yoiir hands 1 

B.eg. In mine! You have left yoUi* friends^ protection forminet 
I love you; be ni}^ Wife and I will make you as happy as possible* 
Nay, you ai'e my prisoner; you cannot help 3'ourself. Yon are mine! 

Ediths Nothing you or' such vlle creatui'es as you could say 
Would sully m.y fair namce 

Beg. i'^acts are stubborn Witnef^seS. You ai'ehere, my prisoner, 
my property! (Comes fonoard and attempts to embrace her.) 

Edith. Viper, let me go! {Springs to door and tries to escapes— 
jR^ginald seizes her aiid tJiroivs her back) 



Reg. Edith, I tell you, you cannot escape! Ko one is in this 
house but ourseives! B}' this time Mrs. Falconer will have re^ 
eeivecl a note from you, saying you have fled with me and implor- 
ing pardon I 

Edith. But mv brothers Will ti^xev believe iti They know 1 
hate you! 

P.cg^ And that is all the good it Will do them. But I forget the 
duties of host; remain here my sweet one^ while 1 bring refresh- 
ments. {Aside.) l^gad! She' ^ a catch! [Ex. door rear. 

Edith, {Goes and tries door ^ and turiis in dlspair.) A pHsonef 
in his hands! Oh, this is terrible! And my dear brothers, will the}^ 
never find me? Oh, C4od pity me! What haVe I done to merit- 
this misery. (Kneels.) 

Enters REiatNAtt) D. tl> 

Reg, Ah, my preciousjittte darling is taking (Exercise! Brace 
up sweet one. and have a little of this. (Prodilces bottle^ holding i 
up.) Ah that's the Jewel! That's the clear quill! Age before 
beauty, my dear. iJfrinJcs, then offers to Edith,) Drinks my rose 
bud. ' 

Edith, Will yon tn5«lt nie, coward? {Knoeks boHle to jtoor and 
breaks it.) 

Reg, There, you hn^i^y! J^ee what ran have done! Now yoii 
shall give me a kiss for that! {Seizes her~thejj stfuggle-- she sereams 
—loud, knock at door rear — continued struggle^ 

Filters LoBD BiSATr^iOK^f t). H. 

Eofd B. (Strikes Hegindld oVer head with cane, Judith rushes to 
Lord IL and clings to him.) Degenerate boy i Ktas innocence and 
puiity no protection from one so vile as you? 

Reg. {Rubbing head ) HoW do you know, my lord, that I am vile 
as you kindly term me? 

Lord B. Did 1 not find you forcibly detaining a good and virtu" 
4) us ^rl nafainst her will? 

Reg. I am. not at all certsiin ^s io her goodness or j^drityi 

Lord B, Silence, fiend, or yoii Will hear that Which you little? 
think. 

lUg^ You are harsh, my lord. The young lady came of h^r owvt 



Tangled LivEs. 







free will, and I will not even now jielA my claim to heti 

Lord B. Monstei% Would you wrong your sister? 

Ueg. Sister! 

Lord Bi Aye^ sii', your sister! 

Beg. (Bowing sneeringly,) The taste for youth aild beauty, theri, 
is hereditai'y? l^his young lady's mothei^ was doubtless as fail* 
and virtuous as she 4 

Lord B. You are right, sir, she was fair and virtuous^ 

Reg I And yet, she was your 

Lord Bt She was my wife! I have done wrong and suffered for 
h. The dead, who fell at youi* hands could reproach me, for the 
mother of these children was nly w'ife and living when you were 
born^ 

Beg. (dredtly dgitdted) ithen I am not your heirP 

Lord B. No! A creature so debased, so void of everything 
tioble, so steeped in evei*y crinle known, is unworthy even a name. 
I have publicly disowned you, and now I forbid your ever entei'^ 
Ing my doors or calling me father* (Reginald staggers and falls lip^ 
vn stool.) Go to your ruiut '^oiir punishment is sure? 

CURTAIN: 

the dratrict rriay be made i^erij effective b^J introdimng a comic sori^ 

With street scene-. 



Ac*. V. 

Scene i.---lllu7nindled gai'dens of Cresslnglm tialU SusHc seat 
i. i^. Enters Kdith with book R. 3- 

EdiMix What a grand old placis is CfeSsihgtoh Hall! What a 
Hch growlh of beauty on evei^y hand| and what gTJod, kind people 
are Lord and Lady Cressington! t love that dear lady as I could 
\\ mother. How kind she is, and yet, I anl not happy. Since Ed^ 
v^i'd went away, all seems changed. Is it possible that^ as V.^.^i* 



TAXGLED LIVES. 37 

nald affirmed, I love him with other than a sister's love! Impos- 
sible! {Crosses to L. F.) It is not wrong to love him! He is my 
brother and I love him only with a sister'' s love. Yet, why is every 
thing so changed since he went away! I hear he is a great soldier, 
and, as an officer, honored for his bravery. Oh Edward, how I 
long to tell you how proud I am of your renown. 

Enter Edvtard i?. 1, in uniform, 

Edward, Edith, dailing Edith! 

Edith, (Turns and sees Edward. Bushes into his arms.) Oh Ed- 
ward, my dear, dear brother! When did you come? Oh I did 
want to see you so much! 

Edward. Have just returned, little sister, and learning you 
were in the garden, sought you at once. 

Edith, And you will not leave us again, Edward? 

Edward. Yes, darling, only a furlough. I did a bit of what my 
superior officers called gallantry, so they put these straps on me 
and sent me home for a vacation. 

Edith. (Stroking eimulets,) Emblems of honor! Oh Edward, how* 
proud I am of my noble brother. {Looking down in embarassment.) 
But— Edward — I — I — Oh Edward, that awful man told me I was 
wicked to love you so! (Looking up into his face.) But he is wrong, 
isnHhe darling? 

Edward, (Aside,) My God, he knows my secret! (Taking her 
hands.) Edith, God knows how I suffer! I am your brother, but 
love you better than ever brother loved sister. I know it is 
wrong, but you alone, know its depth. It was for 3'our sake I 
sought the battle field! It was for your sake I courted danger that 
I might pass out of a world that can never be other than a blank! 
If my love is selfish and carnel, I have not the manhood to control 
it, and will leave you at once. I was wild to receive your greet- 
ing and had resolved to be firm; but my love unmans me, and I 
leave you, a coward and a traitor to my own conscience. (Turns 
to go.) 

Edith. Do not leave me Edward! I cannot let you go! One 
day at least. You must see Lord and Lady Cressington. 

Edward, Edith, I will stay on one condition. That you make 



k 



38 TAXGLED LIVES. 

yourself repulsive to me. Yon know ni}' weakness; do not torture 
me! {Whistling heai^d B.) Goodnight, sweet Edith, may much hap- 
piness be in store for you. [Ex L. J . 
Edith. Oh how dreadful! How poor Edward suffers! Repnls- 
ire to him when I love him as I do? Love, did I say? Can it be 
possible I am guilty of this wicked passion? If he knew" my heart 
he would despise me! I will forget him! It is my secret, and my 
heart shall be silent. (Sinks into seat.) 

Enters Gerald B. 1. 

Gerald. Edith, dear, you have been weeping? 

Edith. No, Gerald, I have only a headache. 

Gerald. {Standing beside her.) Edith, I have something to say to 
you. I have sought 3^ou this evening to ask you to become 
my wife. I love you Edith and will try and make you happy. My 
mother ver}^ much desires our union. 

Edith, Gerald, I respect, I honor 3"ou; I love your mother and 
v/ill do all I can to please her. But this is so sudden — give me 
time — only a little time to think, 

Gerald. {Stooping and kissing her.) Very well, darling, I am 
going to call on a sick friend. When I return, may I know my 
fate? 

Edith. Yes Gerald, when you return you shall know my answer. 

Edward {Kissing his hand to her.) Farewell, darling, only an 
hour. [Ex. B. 1. 

Edith. . Noble youth! and yet, I shudder to think of becoming 
his wife. He is true, upright, honorable; all that w^omenare wont 
to admire in a husband, yet I tremble. Is it my love for Edward 
that causes this heart sinking? [ will put it from nae! I will con- 
quer it! Yes, I will be his wife. I honor him, I may some day 
love him. Once his wife, I will crush out this wicked passion. 

Enter Lord Cressington, B. 2, coughing, supported by Ernest. 
Edith rises. 

Lord C. {Coughing.) Good evening. Miss Edith, you seem to be 
enjoying the garden by yourself. \_Coughing .~\ 

Edith, Alone, my lord. You seem quite feeble this evening. 



TANGLED LIVES. 39 

Lord C. [Coughmg.J Yes, Edith, I am not at all well. This ter- 
rible pain [Hand on breast.'] is fast wearing me out. The least ex- 
citement evercomes me, and at times I fear I shall not see 
autumn . [ Coughing . ] 

Edith, Do not be despondent my lord, I trust there are many 
happy days yet in store for you. 

Lord (7. [Coughing.'] Heaven grant it, Edith. I am very happy 
and have much to live for. 

Edith, Ernest, here is a note a little boy wished me to hand di- 
rect to you; [Hands note.] May I know the contents? 

Ernest, Certainly, sister. This is no billet doux. [Reads.] **A 
person in distress implores the assistance of Ernest Falconer. She 
will wait for him in the garden if his goodness will induce him to 
come and help her." A lady in distress. .1 will go at once. [Go- 
ing.] I hope your lordship will excuse me? 

Edith. [Laying hand on his arm.] Ernest, do not go! Something 
in my heart tells me all is not right. Tear up the hateful thing 
and do not heed it. 

Ernest. Ha, ha! You silly little goose, there's nothing to hurt 
me! Bug-a-boos do not fly this early in the season. 

Enter Geraldine R. 2. 

Ger. [To Lord C] My dear, you are very indiscreet! This night 
air' is very bad for your health. Let me assist you to the house. 

Ernest. Allow me the pleasure, my lord. [Taking his arm.] 

Lord C. [Coughing.] Yes, I will return. This night air is very 
oppressive. 

Ger. That's a good dear; you will feel better in the morning. 
[Ex. Lord C. and Ernest, R.] Why Edith, you here? [Kisses her.] 
I had something to say to you. 

Edith. Yes, my lady, I was enjoying the beautiful evening. 
Did you wish to speak to me? 

Ger. [Taking her hands.] Edith, my darling Edith, I have come 
to plead with you for one who is very, very near to my heart. I 
love him only as a mother can love, and next to him, you. Edith, 
I love you as a daughter. Be his wife, and I will love you more. 
With you for my daughter, I could forget the past and live a life 



40 tanglp:d lives. 

of joy, contentment and happiness. 

Edith. My dear lady, mother I may say, your pleading is need- 
less. Gerald has asked me to become his wife, and when he re- 
turns I shall tell him yes. 

Qer. \_Taking Edith in her arnis.'\ Mj^ own darling! My own 
sweet Edith! You are indeed my daughter. Let me take you to 
my husband that he may share my great joy. {Ex. Ger. and Edith R. 

Enters Reginald presently, creeping stealthily, revolver in hand. 

Reg. Will he come? Shall I have my revenge? Ernest Falcon- 
er has robbed me of my inheritance, and I will take his life for my 
revenge! Heir of Beaumont! Indeed! He shall walk over my 
cold bod}^ to take his title! Hark! \_Whistling heard off R.'] He 
comes! Xow for revenge! (^Crouches behind seat.) 

Qer aid. Edith, where are you darling? 

Reg. {Rising.) Here, dearest! ^Gerald looks up — Reginald fires — 
Gerald puts hand to temple leaving red mark — staggers and falls. 
Reginald goes to victim, starts hack.) My God, I have killed Gerald 
Cressington! 

Enter Officers L. 1. 

1st Officer. Here you are, our prisoner. iSees Gerald and starts 
hack."* What! Another murder! Sieze him! (Reginald tries toes- 
cape — Officers sieze him — struggle — officers get the better — Reginald 
draws dagger and drives it into his own heart.) 

Re^. There! Take me! 

CURTAIN. 

The author would recommend the introduction between Acts 5 and 
6 of a light, joyous ^musical production, not necessarily connected 
with the drama, but of a nature to liven the pathetic without destroying 
the solemnity of the following scene.) 



TANGLED LIVES. 41 

AC'i' VI. 

Scene 1 A parlor in Gressington Hall. Enters Edith R. 3. 

Edith. O dear, what will become of lady Gressington? She nev- 
er smiles, she scarcely hears us when we speak to her, and to our 
solicitation for her welfare, she answers us about some terrible se- 
cret. Poor lady, I fear the loss of Lord Gressington and Gerald will 

kill her. 

Enters Ernest L, 2, 

Em. Edith, sister, is our friend no better? 

Edith. No better. Doctor says he can do nothing for her. She 
mourns over this great tragedy and continually calls for Gerald. 
I fear her mind will never be right again. 

Em. I fear not, Edith, but I have sent for our old friend, Lord 
Beaumont, who may devise some plan for her recovery. 

Edilh, Have you? How thoughtful! He is a kind, good friend 
and may comfort her {Knock at door. L. 2.) Has he come so soon? 

Enters Lord Beaumont. L. 2. 

Edith greets him with a kiss — shakes hands with Ernest. 

Lord B. Ghildren, I am glad to meet you. How is Ger Lady 

Gressington ? 

Em. No better my lord, she walks about like a living sorrow; 
calling upon the dead, and mingling the great tragedy with some 
fancied wrong. 

Lord B. Poor Geraldine, where is she? I must ^ee iJbr at once! 

Edith. She is coming now, my lord; I will go and meet her. 

Lord B. One moment, Edith, I have something to say to Lady 
Gressington which may comfort her. Will you and Ernest kindly 
permit me to meet her alone? There are memories that may still 
answer to the touch, 

Em, (offering his arm to Edith. ^ Gertainly, my Lord, and may 
your words act as balm to soothe her sorrow. 

[Exit Ernest and Edith. B. 1, 

Lord B, God bless you, my children! 

Enters Geraldine B. 3, 
Lord Beaumont meets her — takes both her hands and leads her to a 



42 TANGLED LIVES. 

sofa L, 3.) Goraldine, do you know me? I have come to comfort 
you! (Geraldine looks at him with a wild look.^ Oh, Geraldine, do 
not look at me in that manner! Speak Geraldine, do you know Eu- 
gene? (seats her on the sofa.) 

Oer. {Absently.) Eugene? Eugene? My Eugene? No, no! 
My Eugene was false, You are not false? 

Lord B. {Aside,) Oh, God, her mind is ruined! {To her.) No 

no; darling I am not false 

Oer. My Eugene said he loved me but he went away. Did they 
kill him? And they took my boy — but he'll return— he is a good 
boy — a good boy. Gerald always loved his mother. 

Lord B. Oh, Geraldine, my lost wife; my only love. Look at 
me! Don't you know me? Oh, Geraldine, pit\^ him you once 
loved! 

Ger. {Faiiitly Recognizing.) Eugene! 

Lord B. [Very fervently'] Oh, darling, I have been punished; 
sorely, sorely punished. 1 have seen my wife — the only womon I 
ever loved — caressed by another. Have seen her head pillowed on 
his bosom; her child his! Oh, Geraldine, I have wronged you, but 
I /tafe suffered. 

Ger, [Passing her hand over his face,] Is this Eugene, my lost 
husband? 
Lord B. Geraldine, do you know me? Do you know me darling? 
Oer. I am your wife, Eugene? You will acknowledge me? 

Lord By Yes, yes darling 

Oer. JTou will release me from my promise for my child's sake? 
Lord B. Yes, darling, and for for your own. 
Ger. Oh, I am so happy ; and you love me, Eugene? 
Lord B. Yes, yes, darling, so much, oh so very much ! But, 
Geraldine, do you remember the past? I want to talk with you; 
will you listen? 

Ger, [Absently.] Yes, I'll listen. 

Lord B. Listen, Geraldine, many years have passed since our 
marriage. 

Ger. Not years, Eugene, months. 

Lord B. No, no, Geraldine; you are not trying to remember. 

Ger. [Rubbi7ig her eyes and looking wild.] Yes, Til try; go on. 



TANGLED LIVES. 43 

Lord B. Do you remember mt^eting me one day at the stile, and 
my telling you that— that — oh, Geraldine, how can I repeat it — 
that you were not mj wife? 

Oer. \_Shnclering—Flacing hands to temples.'] Oh; I remember. 
Lot^d B. Do you remember your father's death, your poverty, 
your marriage to Lord Cressington, your voyage to Madera, the 
birth of your son, Gerald 

Ger. Yes, yes; where is he? Why is he not here? 
Lord B, U'hen Geraldine, you returned to England. You met 
Ernest and Edith. Do you remember them? 

Ger. Oh! yes, that dear, sweet girl, she is to be Gerald^s wife. 
Lord B. Do you remember that fearful night — when — you — 
Oh, Geraldine, do you remember his tragic death? 

Ger. Yes, I remember! Oh, my Gerald, my bright, noble boy! 
(Bursting into tears.) He is dead, struck down by the hand of 
an assassian! And I — I seem to remember — It seems like a dream 
— that my husband died — died in my arms. 

LordB. It is no dream, Geraldine, they are both dead. (Gerald- 
ine weeps bitterly — Lord B. pacing floor.) The greatest grief may be 
quenched with tears. The great sorrow that has held her mind 
captive, may depart through this crystal flood. (Goes to her.) Ger- 
aldine? 

Ger. (Calmly. Rising.) Lord Beaumont, I 

Lord B. (Grasping her hands.) Geraldine? 

Ger. (Withdrawing hands and courtesing .) Lady Cressington, Lord 
Beaumont. 

Loi^d B. (Passionately.) Oh Geraldine, — for to me you are not 
Lady Cressington — for days have I watched over you — scarcely 
left you; let this plead for what I have to say! 

Ger. Lord Beaumont, you have done your duty kindly and well; 
My mind is again restored. 

Lord B. But, Geraldine, listen to me. 

Ger. It is madness to torture me in this way! You have a son. 
Lord Beaumont. 

Lord B, Yes, one son and one daughter. 

Ger. {Covering her face.) Why do you address me thus? Do you 



44 TANGLED LIVES. 

always remember raj degradation? Can you neyer forget? 
Lord B, I can never forget that you are my wife, Geraldine. 
Ger, Wife? 

Lord B. [Apjjroaching her. She shrinks away.^ Geraldine, my 
lawful wife, do not shrink from me thus; it is true, and Icall God 
to witness. 

Oer. What do you mean ? 

Lord B, I was married twice, but you were my first wife. You 
alone, are Lady Beaumont. 

Ger. iWi'inging her hands. -^ Oh, heaven, what a wretched life has 
this man led me! Of what unconscious "wickedness have I been 
guilty! 

Lord B, Not wicked, Geraldine, the sin is mine! For twenty 
years the shadow of this crime has followed me! IKneeHng.l Ger- 
aldine can you forgive me? Can you remember my love for you, 
and forget my sin? Think how my parents forced me to forsake 
you; of the twenty years of sorrow — sorrow that is worse than 
death. A falsehood before God and man! Oh Geraldine on my 
knees I implore forgiveness! Wife, it is your husband that hum- 
bles himself thus! Oh, Geraldine, if in the memory of those happy 
days there is one bright ray, let it plead in your heart for my for- 
giveness. 

Ger, My he^rt has no right to foster malice, stricken as I am 
with the loss of cherished hopes, of these cherished ones I loved. I 
will forgive you. Lord Beaumont, and will strive to forget. 
Lord B. iRising.'\ That you are my wife, Geraldine? No, no. 
Ger, You would not dare to claim me? 

Lord B. Nut unless 3 our own heart sanctioned it. Do not, Ger- 
aldine, close it against me. In a little while 

Ger. Do not speak of it; my heart is in the grave with my hus- 
band and only child. 

Lord B. Geraldine, Gerald was not your only child. 
Ger. Eugene, [Laying her hand in his,-^ I, too, have suftered. 
Passing through a life of sorrow, I am now bereft of all I dared to 
call my own. Prove to me I yet have children, and I will forgive 
all. 
Ljrd B, Has your heart never told you that 



TANGLED LIVES. 45 

t^ef^ Yes, 3^ess Ernest, Edith — are they — can it be 3^011 have 
doubly deceived me? Tell me! Tell me! Speak! A.re they 

Lord B, They afe j'-our children, Geraldine! 

Ge}\ Oh, Kiigene^ how could you deprive me of twenty years of 
^ mother's joys. {.Lord B. goes to R. 1 and beckons,] Oh my children, 
my ciiildren, wher« are they? 

Enter Ernest and Edith R. 1. 

Lord B. Here, Geraldide. Chiidren, this is your mother! 

Eddtk mid Ernest Mother! 

Ernest Mother! HartB I indeed, that happiness? 

Edith. Mother^ mother, are you indeed my own mother? iThey 
^mbrace^l Oh> I haye always loved you, and now I will be Touro wn 
^auo;hter. 

Ger, Dear children, are yois indeed my own? IHolds ErnesVs 
'hand-, resting her head on Lord B's shoulder. 1 

Edith. ^Slipping aid a7j ] Oh, where is Fd ward? iStarts l^ fimdhim 
^nd meets him at R. 1.] Oh, Edward, I am so happy.' 

Edwards I am gtad my little sister is happy ^ 

Edith. Oh no, no, EdwardJ I am not jour sister. Bi^tyou 
will love me, Edward? 

Edivard^ Love you, Edit<fo? I would di-e for you! But I — I do 
^ot i?,ndt?rstand — - 

Lord B^ Then 1 will explain-, Edith and Ernest Falconer, are 
^10 l(m;^r Falconer^ but the tri^-e and legitimate chiMren of Lord 
Beaumont and Lady Geraldine-; whil^ you, my yo^no; friend, .are 
4iot Etlwa.d Falcoiaer, but Edward Cr^ssingtoia, iEditha7id Ernest 
•look surprised.^ the only son of Gilbert Cr^ssmgton^ j^unger 
brother atid heit of Lord Cfess^ino'ton, deoeased. Your father mar- 
lied a<^ainst his parents' wishes, and soon thereafter sailed for the 
<)aiiadas, i»i t-ho lat^d ship Medin-a. Your mother, for his sake re- 
'iaiued her maiden name^ Iffands large envelope J This will explain 
'hIL [Edith slips her hand- inte that of Edward.^ 

Edwajrd. Thais k you Lord Beaumont. This is only one of the 
rnai^v bl-essiftgs I h«,ve received at your hands. tLeails Edith up to 
Lord. i>.] 1 now ask you to crown with happiness, a life made 
43-rigiit a«d jovck/.s by your -goodness, iu makiug this dear girl my 



46 , TANGLED LIVES, 

wife. 

Lord B, After yon have won her heart. I can sacrifice my chilci 
on no altar but that of love. 

Edith How sweet to be a sacriiice! - 

Ernest. {Coming forward taking hands of Edith and Edward.^ 
Brother anti .^"ister, still; may yoi:ir lives be as joyous as this, your 
betrothal. ^ 

Ger. 1 have found rny /daug-hter^ only io lose her a^ain; but 
where true hearts are joined, let not the interest of others conflict. 

Lo7xlB, [Coming forward — Edith and Edward km^eMng — plam^ 

Minds (m their heads.lMy children, with my bJessiDg", let me adnaon- 

jsh von to ever cherish the o:iiidiF>of star of lore: and remember that 

after twenty year of sorrow, there has yet dawned a dnj ol ^Bnsli5i>e 

through the vail of TANGLED LIVES. 

CURTAIL.. 



